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Something my father will never see.
I think about him, sometimes with anger and sometimes with sadness. I can’t lie. I am going to miss him. Actually, I already do. But I’m missing the father I thought I had, not the one I learned was such a vile excuse for a human being. I’m missing the idea of the man I once believed I knew—certainly not the horrible one who took my mother away from me, and then tried to take my life. I still feel sick when I think about it. All those years I blindly trusted someone who was ready to throw me out like some piece of garbage.
If that doesn’t fuck with your head, I don’t know what does. It will take a long time to heal from this, if I ever do. Who knows, maybe this will become a scar I carry, never far from my thoughts like some sort of cross to bear. All I can really do is believe I did nothing wrong except end up by chance with the wrong father, and do better by my own child.
The guys haven’t told me what they did with Dad. I suppose they would, if I asked, but I haven’t. I am afraid to. So, I imagine him on a beach someplace where he can live out the rest of his days living a simple life, not that he deserves anything that agreeable. It’s really for me, this vision, creating a more tolerable picture for me to focus on. Like maybe he’s taken up fishing. Or boating. Maybe he’s made friends with the locals, who are teaching him how to live without the trappings of his old life. Teaching him to be kind and look out for his neighbors. Do nice things for other people.
But who am I kidding? Dad would never go away quietly, and because of that, he’s probably no longer among the living, like his failed agent, Karol. Another thing I try not to think about too much.
With his being gone, I am his sole heir. I’ve decided to sell his company to one of his competitors—of course, someone the guys like working with. And I put the house and all its contents up for an estate sale. I don’t want anything to do with either of those things. Get rid of it all. Even all my old stuff. Someone else can have it. Hopefully someone deserving.
I could have taken over the business—with help from the guys—but it’s time to start over. Leave the old shit behind. Like Miami. I may have grown up there, but I never really fit in, anyway.
So, I am moving to Paris, where my mother has made her home for fifteen-plus years. When the baby comes, she will mind him or her—I don’t want to know the sex yet—while I study French and eventually finish my university degree. I understand college classes in France are tougher than in the U.S. I’m nervous, but I’ll figure it out. After I learn French, that is. But Mom, having been there for so long, is fluent and has lots of friends. This will make things so much easier for me.
She and I are still getting to know each other. She told me how hard it was, on my birthday, to learn that I love chocolate cake, and how heartbreaking it was to realize she barely knew anything about me.
I feel the same way about her and have learned she loves espresso, unlike me, and won’t touch grilled octopus with a ten-foot pole, unlike me. The good news is we have more in common than we have differences. We’re both book worms, love art, and sleep late whenever possible.
Also, we hate shopping and if we could live every day in jeans and sneakers, that would suit us just fine.
I’m not sure I see her as a ‘mom,’ at least not yet. I want to, but it’s not the kind of thing you turn on like a switch. Right now, she’s more of a big sister, which is actually pretty awesome. She’s like a really good friend with whom you have no family baggage. No history of bullshit. We can create our reality any way we want. Each day is a new one. And each is better than the last.
She’s going to help with the baby when it comes and she couldn’t be happier about it. She gained a daughter and a grandchild all at once, which is giving her the chance to be the mom she didn’t get to be with me. Second chances all around.
And then there are the guys.
Mom adores them, and they her. My life in an unconventional one, but none of us is phased by it. In fact, our new little family is what we all were craving, what was sorely missing in each of our lives, and just never knew it
While the guys have to do a lot travel with their various ‘businesses,’ they’re calling Paris their home, now. They bought a huge apartment in my mother’s building, big enough for all of us and the baby. My child will grow up surrounded by so much love, it brings tears to my eyes.
And guess what? We can fly down to Ibiza anytime we want. In fact, we’ll head there for one last trip just before the baby comes to get a little rest and relaxation away from the buzz of the big city.
And then it’s baby time!
When I’m heading to my French classes, walking around the city, I sometimes think I see the French sisters. It never turns out to be them. But it might someday. Hopefully not too soon, because I don’t know what the hell I’d say to them.
I mean, they did fuck me over, but look how things turned out. I could tell them to go to hell just as easily as I could thank them. Maybe rub my good fortune in their faces. But what are the chances?
One of the most surprising things about being pregnant is how damn horny I am. Seriously. Like when evening comes, I could swear I have on occasion seen the guys retreating from me so they can get a little break. That’s not going to happen, of course, because they’re always available to take care of my carnal needs. But it’s safe to say I am wearing them the hell out. Thank god there are three of them and only one of me.
It's intense, this new life of mine, full of love and luxury, and that helps take the sting out of the downsides. The losses. But everyone experiences loss in their life, and if the universe is kind that day, they might come out ahead. I know how lucky I am to have my mom, my soon-to-be baby, and especially my three guys, whose names are on my lips every night when I go to bed, and every morning when I wake up.
Just like mine is on theirs.
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